Page 67 of To Catch a Viscount

The earlier resolve she’d found in her brandy faded. Heart thundering, Marcia fell back in her seat so quickly, she spilled some of the contents of her snifter.

“Stormont,” Andrew returned the greeting in cold tones that made no attempt to conceal his impatience with the other man’s interruption.

The earl gave no indication that he either heard or cared about Andrew’s annoyance. Instead, his gaze remained locked on Marcia, and she reflexively touched her mask before realizing the telltale gesture and forced her hands back to her lap.

The earl’s gaze narrowed even more. “I was hoping for an introduction to yourlatestcompanion.”

The deliberate emphasis placed on that particular word didn’t escape her notice, an emphasis that seemed to serve as a deliberate reminder that Marcia was nothing to Andrew.

She knew she wasn’t. She certainly didn’t require any reminders from this man, or anyone. But it cleaved her chest anyway.

Suddenly, Stormont flared his eyebrows. “We know one another.” That icy pronouncement was directed not at Andrew but, rather, Marcia, and she resisted the urge to shift guiltily on her feet.

Andrew tipped his chair on its back legs and angled his chin up. “Shove off, Stormont.”

“That’s hardly polite, Waters.” Stormont sneered. “Not that I’m surprised.”

“Find your own company.” Andrew paused. “If you’re able,” he added with an equal frost to match the earl’s. “Coming to my table and insulting me is hardly in good form.” Abandoning the casual repose of his seat, he let the chair rest on all fours. “I won’t ask you a second time. If you want to play at governess, go find someone else.”

The two men were locked in a standoff, and through the tense exchange, Marcia sat absolutely still.

Perhaps there was history between them. Perhaps Stormont’s presence had nothing to do with his suspicions that she was the former fiancée of Lord Thornton. And mayhap she needn’t worry about him knowing and, in turn, the world knowing and—

Stormont switched his attention back to Marcia.

He peered intently at her. “My lady,” he said coolly, and with one last, long look, the earl left.

Marcia’s heart thudded against her rib cage as she followed his retreat all the way through the gaming hell to the front of the club and out the door.

“He knows,” she whispered.

Andrew gave her a peculiar look, as if there was possibly some other person about whom she could be speaking.

“Stormont,” she said, unable to keep the franticness from her hushed words.

“And tell me, Marcia, what if he did gather the truth? What then? Would you wish you’d conducted yourself differently?” Dropping both elbows on the table, he leaned in. “Would you regret that you’d ever set on this path?”

She knew what he was doing and what he was saying without actually saying it. He wanted her to stop this now.

And she should.

She’d realized after her sister had discovered her in the corridor that she could not carry on this way for much longer. The world would speak about Marcia with unkind words and gossip about her regardless of how she conducted herself, but there was hope for her sisters. When Flora had her Come Out in several years, the story of Marcia’s bastardy would be a distant memory. But tales of a bastard sister who’d crept about London with Society’s most notorious scoundrel and partaken in sinful behavior would be a scandal that lived on long into the future.

She’d end this.

Soon.

After one more night.

She’d have one more forbidden night with Andrew, and then she’d put all of this behind her. And in the years to come, when she remained unmarried with a scandalous reputation only because of her birthright, she’d have the memories of these wicked outings and his kisses to keep her company.

Chapter 10

The following night, Marcia found herself trapped.

She was trapped and never getting free.

Her latest cage that night—Lord and Lady Guilford’s ballroom.

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